Seven Years of Blood
by MonsterWithinOurselves
Summary: Alternate universe where Sheamus, John Cena, CM Punk and Randy Orton are in a band called Seven Years of Blood. On the stage, they seem like your average band, but behind the scenes... it's a bit more complicated. (Sheamus/Randy/John/Punk) [SWEARING/SLASH]
1. Prologue

There would have been silence if there hadn't been constant sounds of footsteps leaving the stadium. There were conversations left to right, barely audible through the echoing sound of the guitarist's own notes being placed. They had only been a practice off of Coheed and Cambria's song "Welcome Home"'s beginning guitar notes, which had to have severe concentration to do correctly. Even after the failed attempts, there were continuous tries until the door had been opened rather quickly.

Olive eyes met baby blue eyes for an automatic greeting. After accepting the presence of both men in the room, the one who had recently entered went to fetch a bottle of water, quickly opening it and gulping it down in an almost unhealthy way. It caused a small grimace to the guitarist, making him stop in his tracks and glance over at the other man, raising an eyebrow.

"You're gonna end up choking if you don't slow down."

After a few more gulps, the man looked over at the concerned one, "Ah'm okay, fella. Why weren't ya at the backstage gat'erin'? Had t'a tell a l'oot of fans ya couldn't come."

A chuckle. "Fans? Oh please. I piss people off."

"Ah'm serious. Don't avoid me question, Phil."

The guitarist grunted in retort. For the last few concerts, he hadn't been going to the backstage gathering and it hadn't been a problem until now. Maybe it was just because he had missed too many for comfort. Looking back at his electric guitar, he started to play a few more random notes, trying to avoid answering the question. It was obvious that he just wasn't in the mood to try to tell the other his life story. Even if the other man was the singer and leader of their band.

"Phil," he emphasized, walking over to the smaller man who had been sitting on the couch provided for them. After trying to reach for the guitar, it was slightly snatched away, causing the Irish accented man to sigh, "Ye have t'a tell me what's wrong."

Another grunt.

"Phil."

"Fine!" the straight edge yelled. After he had realized his rather loud reply, he took a few breaths before calming back down, "I pissed off our manager and he is riding my ass right now, okay? I just wanna hide from him."

"What'd ye do t'is time?"

"….. called him a walrus."

There had been a chuckle from him, "Well, even if ye are tryin' t'a hide from Paul, s'too late t'a sign autographs and take pictures wit' fans. Ju't try t'a n'oot piss him off anymore. T'at, and we need t'a get goin'. John and Randy are ready t'a go."

There was a small groan at the mentioning of Randy's name, because the very thought of the drummer had him cringe. Now, talk about a guy Phil absolutely hated. He was forced to work with him, however, just because he had such a great tolerance for Stephen and John. He was sure that was the only thing him and Randy would agree on. After giving a curt nod, Phil put his guitar in its case, picking it up and walking over to the door with Stephen by his side. He was actually lucky to have Stephen as a friend, having been the only person he could openly admit things to without getting stared at. John was the same way, but for some reason, Phil preferred Stephen a lot more. Maybe because John was always hanging around Randy.

Eventually, the two got to the tour bus and was greeting with a hug from John. They always celebrated after having a successful concert, so they had been used to this by now. It's been nearly ten years since they started this band, and with a look around the tour bus… it wasn't getting old anytime soon.

Seven Years of Blood was seen here and there; being always appreciated by the four men for being their revolutionary band name.

After being freed from the hug, Stephen automatically went to go tell the bus driver that they all wanted some pizza, then Phil went straight to the fridge to pull out a Pepsi. After closing the fridge door and opening the drink, he turned around, only to see that Randy's cold, icy eyes glared right at him. The far taller man took a big whiff of a cigarette, then blew the smoke to the side, at least respectful enough not to blow it into the straight edge's face, regardless of how tempting it was.

"You're in my way, Phillip."

"Aw, gonna go get yourself a beer? Because that's totally gonna help you with your alcohol problem, Randal."

"Fuck off," Randy chimed in before he could hear anymore of Phil's ranting about how he was better than him because he didn't do shit he did, "And stop calling me Randal."

"Would you prefer I call you a douchebag? Or maybe a fuck-cunt? Or, hell, maybe an even more accurate name, raging alcoholic?"

Huffing, Randy removed his cigarette from his lips and bent down close to Phil, giving him a sadistic grin. "Uh-uh-uh," he tsked, putting out his cigarette in the smaller man's freshly opened Pepsi can, "I'm an alcoholic just because of you, Phil. You should be honored to have a habit dedicated to you. Now," he slithered around the other, opening the fridge and getting out a bottle of beer, "Who wants some beer?"

"I'll have a little bit," John spoke up, "If you want me to, Phil."

Phil grunted as he looked down at his ruined Pepsi, nearly vomiting at the smell. It was fucking disgusting and it may have been the most disrespectful thing Randy's done to him yet, but he would get revenge on him later, "Stop kissing my ass, Johnny-boy. You and Sheamo can always drink. I just hope you don't expect a kiss from me anytime soon."

"Awh! But I just love your kisses." John teased, patting Phil on the shoulder as he was handed a beer from Randy. After they both had opened their own, John got another beer and went over to Stephen, who had been looking at himself in the mirror.

"T'ink it's time fer anot'er haircut, eh, fella?" he turned to John, delighted that he was given a beer, "Ah t'ink so."

"Shut up, you look hot," John remarked, not feeling guilty about his statement at all, "But if you want to, sure. Not to forget we still need to come together and think up a few more songs. Preferably with me singing some more instead of being another bassist."

"What's wrong about playing the guitar?" Phil raised an eyebrow, dumping out his Pepsi in the sink and recycling the can.

"Psh, nothing! I just wanna sing more, too. Have an equal balance."

"Well, while you all are debating about new songs, tell me when you all want an actual genious to help you."

"Shut the fuck up, Randal. I swear to jeebus, _I'm_ gonna become an alcoholic because of _you_." Phil shoved passed Randy to get himself another Pepsi.

"And everything you say just pisses me off!" Randy yelled at Phil.

Stephen growled as he grabbed an air horn, blowing it off. In response, John, Randy and Phil covered their ears grimacing.

"Ye two are a bunch of lunatics, n'oot gettin' along like t'is! Ah'm gonna lock ye two in a room until ye solve yer problems!"

Phil looked over at Stephen, grumbling, "Are you kidding me? I would rather be a really terrible Star Wars reference than to be locked up in a room with Randal!"

Another blow to the air horn.

"Fucking CHRIST! Phil," John started, "Shut the hell up!"

The singer raised an eyebrow, "Now, we're gonna start headin' t'a New York. If ah hear a peep between Randy and ye, ye won't be allowed t'a have Pepsi for a week and Randy won't allowed to smoke for a week!"

"Stephen, what the hell?" Randy growled, "Phillip's the one who keeps ruining our lives!"

"Actually, Phil is almost all the reason we're all here today. So Randy, chill out, would you?! Can't we just have one night without you two fighting?!"

"Fine." Phil grumbled, heading to the back of the bus, "Come get me when the pizza's on the bus, then."


	2. A New Chance

It had been nearly two AM and laughter had filled the tour bus.

With about four pizza boxes scattered about, it wasn't very long until more beer presented itself within the confinements of the bus. That had led to a new atmosphere, one that wasn't nearly as tense as hours prior.

They all couldn't believe what they were hearing.

John was going on, slightly drunk, about his past experience with a stranger before. He told his friends that way back in the early two thousands he was dared to have sex with a woman that was certainly… larger than average. Of course, being his idiotic self, he had sex and he was trying to explain how hard it was trying to move around in a freakishly small bed. At one time the bed even shifted, nearly collapsing under him and the woman. Once he had told his band members that, they lost it.

After they had calmed down with nearly laughing their guts out, they had turned to Randy to see if he's ever had a weird sexual encounter before. For the most part, he said no, but then he started to describe a very eerie scenario. Talking about having sex in a dungeon or what the fuck not, which got John to scoff in disbelief, Stephen to go wide-eyed, and Phil to just say that he didn't expect anything less. Of course, being drunk, Randy didn't mind any sarcastic comment from Phil, but he did go on with his story.

He had sex in a dungeon, which slowly turned into another weird scenario where he'd met some chick and had told her about his bondage fetish and one thing led to another… he ended up telling them what happened in Fifty Shades of Grey, which Stephen was the first to catch on.

All of them saw that movie and left the movie theatres different men. Seriously.

After another round of chuckles, the attention turned to Stephen, in which he openly admitted that his sexual experiences were experimental ones. He didn't really know what he liked back then, so of course, one thing led to another and he got involved with some actual bondage this time with some kinky guy. For the most part it was good… but then he brought out some goddamn bugs and he was out of there faster than the speed of light.

There was just silence after that. Followed by a question of what bugs they were, and _that's_ when Stephen had asked Phil what his weirdest sexual encounter was.

Now, being stared at by his drunken band members was rather… habit by now. They'd get drunk while he'd just act just as weird as them, minus the alcohol. He certainly wasn't going to hold back if they weren't, whether aware of it or not, but there were lines that he set up. He watched the exact amount of beers and whiskey shots just so they wouldn't end up pissing themselves or doing something they would regret the day after.

However, with this time around, Phil shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't that he was a virgin, god no, that wasn't the case at all. He just… didn't have enough experience in that kind of field, and he told his friends that. Though before much conversation could be leaked from that subject, Phil's phone rang. He grabbed it and got up, walking to the other room to leave his friends in another conversation about.. whatever drunk guys talk about.

He answered it without much thought, "Hello?"

"Phil!"

Phil groaned inaudibly. It had been his manager Paul Heyman. And after their last conversation… he was sure Paul was going to screw him over. See, not only did he call him a walrus, he insulted him on multiple other things too, like how Paul has gone corrupt and hasn't really expressed the band's image in the media like the way he wanted. It was all about Sheamus, all about Stephen Farrelly, all about this, all about that, but barely ever about himself, John, and Randy. While the other two had no problem with it, he did, just because he was the always the last one to be mentioned and/or recognized. Sure, Stephen was the leader, but some recognition wouldn't hurt. You definitely didn't see him going in for TV shows or the what-not, and it pissed him off. Plus, the band was being portrayed as some hardcore group that didn't care about its worthy opponents, when truth is, Phil had David Draiman's number practically on speed dial.

The argument lasted for thirty minutes with mostly Phil ranting, then proceeded by some insults thrown back and forth. One of those gut-stabbing insults Paul threw at him was replacing him in the band with some other guy that was more fit and claimed to be better at guitar. Oh, it pissed him off.

"About our last call," Paul said, interrupting Phil's thoughts, "I took into consideration about what you said and decided… you were right! You aren't getting the recognition you oh so rightfully deserve!"

"Okay, who the fuck are you and what the hell did you do to Paul?" the guitarist grumbled, completely bewildered. What the actual fuck?

"Well… I'm still Paul, but I got you an interview! Ever heard of _The Highlight Reel?_ Oh, of course you have! I talked the host, Jericho, into interviewing you!"

"…. Just me?"

"Yeah. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Fuck yeah it is, but… what about John and Randal?"

"I'll get to them. I just need you to come to Fulton Street in Brooklyn, New York. Around eleven AM would be ideal."

"Okay," Phil nodded to himself, remembering the street and all of that. He didn't think it was that far from their concert, since the street was still in Brooklyn. Even if some of himself did doubt that this was even real, he let that slip his mind as he replied, "I got it. Won't be late."

"I know you won't."

Phil hung up his phone, speechless afterwards. That had taken a turn for the best, apparently. After going back into the other room, he came back to see John and Randy asleep on the couch, while Stephen was searching through the cabinets to see if there was anything to eat.

"Who was t'at, fella?"

"It was Paul. And… he got me an interview with this guy from a show, just like I wanted."

"Hnng," Stephen grunted, glancing over at Phil with a warning look, "Why would he do t'at? Ah mean, ye deserve it, but doesn't it seem a tad bit suspicious t'a ye?"

"Of course it fucking does, but… c'mon. More people'll be aware of my existence, and that could be my chance to say we actually give two shits about our competitors. I don't wanna come off as an asshole so Paul can manipulate us into being this band that we aren't. I mean," Phil turned towards John and Randy, which John's head had been placed on the taller man's shoulder, "Does it really look like we piss on graves and kick puppies?"

"Ahhh," Stephen took a glance, not really aware of John and Randy's position. He shrugged getting out some peanuts, "No? Ah t'ink no is th'a answer."

Oh, right. He was talking to a drunk man, after all. Rolling his eyes, Phil put his hands on the back of Stephen's shoulders, giving them a tight squeeze, "Never cease to amuse me, you chipmunk." After that, he let go as the Irish man simply chuckled, then Phil went over to the driver, asking him a few questions.

Stephen looked at the straight edge as he walked away, satisfied with how those shorts fit nicely against his ass. Wait…. that didn't seem right. Something wasn't right with that thought…. Oh well. He'd figure out what about that thought was bugging him later. In the meanwhile, he would just gladly stuff his face with salted peanuts, getting one more shot of whiskey down before going into his bunk bed in the wall. It was definitely going to be a big day before him, so a few hours of sleep wouldn't hurt.


	3. The Flashback

**Author's Note: Thank you all for the positive feedback so far! It really helps me in getting inspired to write even more chapters! c:**

 **And if you guys are ever curious about how John, Sheamus, Punk and Randy look like in this fanfic, I drew a picture of them on here.**

 **Oh! Plus, Seven Years of Blood sing songs from other bands, which, in this AU, they were the ones to make the songs up. I don't own any of the rights to these songs, yadda yadda, other copyright things I'm supposed to say, blah blah blah. I promise you won't be disappointed in the song choices as long as you imagine Sheamus singing them. xD**

Normally the tour bus would encounter some rocky paths, causing the bus to shake, but hardly ever did anyone sleep through that. With the rough road making the bus vibrate, Stephen ended up being woken up, still having the taste of salted peanuts right on his tongue. After laying in his bunk bed for a few moments, it wasn't long after that he remembered some things from hours before and understood he was really the only one sleeping in the bunk bed in the wall. As he tried to slide out, the bumpy road only caused him to slam his head against the bed's ceiling, hitting him right in the forehead.

"Merda!1" he hissed, holding his head as he fell out from the top bunk. He chewed on his lip as he looked around, getting up from the fall. He walked into the room closest to the bus door, seeing that John and Randy were watching TV, obviously trying to get over their hangovers.

They hadn't noticed Stephen there, or at least he thought they didn't, so he slowly turned around to go to the room in the back of the bus, seeing that Phil had been still awake and playing a video game. It looked like he was playing Mario Kart, but the Irishman didn't really accept his assumption due to his splitting headache.

He turned around once more, jogging up to the cabinets to get out some Ibuprofen for his pain. He went back over to the fridge to get himself a bottle of water before slipping the pill into his mouth and chugging it down.

"You have a hangover too?" Randy spoke up, staring over at the leader.

"Hnng," Stephen replied, looking over at Randy who had also gotten John to look at the Irishman as well, "No. Slammed me head again't th'a ceilin' of me bunk bed."

"You okay?" John chimed in, showing obvious worry. Even if he was hangover, it didn't mean he had to be in _that_ bad of a mood.

"Yeah, ah'm fine, fella. We in New York yet?"

Randy huffed, "We got to New York like an hour ago. We didn't wanna wake you up so we didn't."

"Thing is," John began, "I even separated Randy and Phil so you could get some peaceful sleep."

A scoff from Stephen. Of course he did. He looked out one of the windows, seeing that they were definitely in New York, seeing how many buildings there were and how many people there was. They had a concert later on that day, with about over a thousand tickets sold. He would have to be careful about yelling for the rest of the day if he wanted this concert to turn out as good as the last ones.

Well, it wasn't even about that. He didn't want to disappoint his fans. Or the other members of his band, which was even more important to him than trying to impress the fans. It was all about team work, and John, Randy, and Phil put their hearts and souls into the music they play. He could only return the favor by doing the same.

Looking away from the window, he looked over at John and Randy to see Randy getting up to go somewhere else, which made Stephen think for a bit. Maybe now was the time to get to talk to John alone. After giving himself a nod, he walked over to the couch, slumping down on it right by John, which didn't get much of a reaction from him but a small groan.

"Fella?"

"Hmm?"

"After th'a concert, do ye want t'a go t'a a bar?"

John looked over at Stephen, slightly confused. Talk about out of the blue, "Sure. Randy and Phil gonna come?"

"Ah don't t'ink Phil would want t'a come. And Randy and him need some alone time toget'er anyways."

"Oh. Yeah, we can go to a bar, I don't mind. I don't think I'll be drinking all that much, though." A shrug.

"Ah, t'at's good t'a hear. Ah actually need t'a talk t'a ye ab'oot somet'in' t'at ah need yer opinion on. Ah wouldn't t'ink Randy or Phil would understand me as much as ye would."

"Well, that's reasonable, I suppose. We can head out after we sign some autographs and all that."

"Aye."

After a while, the members get themselves prepared for the concert. Even if it had only been about thirty minutes until eleven in the morning, while the concert was at four o'clock in the afternoon. Regardless, they went over some of the songs they would do, like their song In the End2, Feels like Forever3, Aerials4, and so on. They would even debut their new song, I Am Machine5. Knowing their fans, they would love practically any song they put on.

In the middle of their discussion, the tour bus had randomly stopped. This had raised multiple eyebrows from the band members.

"Why we stopping?" John asked, aiming the question at the bus driver.

"Phil's interview. We're on the street."

Randy and John looked over at Phil with a confused face, as if questioning him how the hell he even got an interview. Phil shrugged, getting up from his chair and walking to the front of the bus, soon getting off into the sidewalk. The tour bus driver told Phil where the concert was going to be so he could have it for a taxi, which Phil only responded with a nod to show he understood. And as he watched the bus leave, it only brought him back to whenever the band first got together.

 _It was a chilly August night and the bar had been full of people. It wasn't planned to be in such a heavily crowded place like this, but it had been the only place that was anywhere near close to his friends. They had lived so far away, with everyone just drifting further and further apart after college. It had been a sad transition for everyone, but it was for the better of them all._

 _After months of trying to search for the job he liked, he came up with nothing he was entirely happy with. That's when he had picked up the habit of playing guitar, and then proposed that he should make a band. Now, risking the chance that his old college friends could do anything related to playing music was something he had taken into consideration, however he had texted the two people he wanted, and they had said yes._

 _He was far more excited that the band he had in mind was getting together than he had thought._

 _"Phil!"_

 _Olive orbs glanced over a shoulder, bringing a smile to plump lips as the sight of John and Stephen nearly warmed his heart. Nearly. It was still icy from college, though._

 _The two men sat down, as Phil expected, but then another man sat down. Phil raised his eyebrow at the tanned man, having remembered him from college as well._

 _"What the fuck?" The straight edge conjured, growling at Randy, "The fuck are_ you _doing here?"_

 _"Phil," An Irish accent spoke up, making a warning clear to avoid a fight. Especially in a bar, "Randy can play drums, fella. He'd be a good person t'a have in th'a band, which we still need t'a discuss about."_

 _Phil grumbled as Randy just smirked at him. Oh, he'd love to smack that smirk right off his smug face. Even though it wasn't in his plans to invite Randy into the band, he knew that they needed a drummer. If the asshole was all they could fish up, Phil would have to shut it and accept it. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair, backing off his defensive attitude towards the youngest one out of all of them, "Right. Band stuff. So have you guys figured out what you're gonna do?"_

 _"Depends," John joined in, "What type of band is this going to be?"_

 _"One that changes the world," the raven-haired man fantasized, "Or if you want an answer that's not so poetic; a rock band. Kinda like Disturbed but… not really? I don't know how to explain it."_

 _"So we are going to scream into a microphone and call it music?" Randy huffed._

 _"Uhh, no, you're not going to scream into the mic. The last thing people want is to hear your voice."_

 _"Can't promise I'll be that good," John sighed._

 _"Ah'll do it," Stephen added, "Ah'll be th'a lead singer."_

 _"Good! I'll be the guitarist, Randy's the drummer, and… John?"_

 _"… bassist, I suppose. I'm good with a guitar, but I'll be a backup singer if I'm needed."_

 _"Great!" Phil grinned cheekily at his friends, "And I've been debated about the band name… and I've come up with Seven Years of Blood."_

 _"Why?" Randy questioned him, "Sounds like we're Satanic."_

 _"Well… y'know how people say they've cried, sweat, and bled for something they believe in? I figured since every cell in a person's body changes in seven years… just add 'of blood' to the title and it's kinda like we've changed our blood for the music we sing and the things we change and believe in. I just want to make a difference, guys. Is that so hard to ask?"_

 _Stephen nodded, "Ah like th'a name. We come off as t'oogh."_

 _"I like it too. Sure, seems a little far-fetched, but now that you've put a reason behind it…" John looked at Randy, who still didn't seem very convinced, "C'mon, Randy. I'll buy you a Bloody Mary if you say you'll do it under that name."_

 _Randy huffed, now being the one to fold his arms, "Fine, I'll do it."_

Now look where they were at.

The concert had just ended, with fans screaming for an encore. As much as it was tempting, it was an encore never to come. All of the band members were beat yet they still went on to autograph whatever, take pictures with nearly a hundred people, and wasn't able to leave the stadium until ten o'clock at night. Even though they were all tired, John and Stephen were able to sneak away, going to the closest bar they could find.

While they had sneaked off, Phil went into the tour bus to find Randy drinking and smoking. Rolling his eyes, he went past the man, putting his guitar case away safely. It was silent afterwards, all except when the silence was interrupted by chuckling.

Phil turned around to Randy, to find the alcoholic chuckling at him, "The hell are you laughing at?"

"You," Randy said automatically, "Can't believe they left me with you."

"… what?" Phil raised an eyebrow, "No, they're still in the stadium. John and Stephen couldn't have just… left."

Randy got up, slithering over to Phil. To tell whether he was drunk or not was hard, but it was safe to assume that he knew exactly what he was saying, "They left. Heard them talking earlier about going to a bar together and leaving me behind to babysit you. Fucking sucks."

"I'm not a child. Go to a bar, see if I care. Go drink your pain away."

"Who says I was drinking my pain away?" the drummer grumbled.

"It's completely obvious. You're drinking because of your silly divorce that happened nearly a year ago. Seriously, lighten up. It's pitiful to watch."

Randy slammed his hand on the counter, making Phil jump. Then he leaned in, "You shut up about my divorce."

Eugh. The straight edge could smell the gut-wrenching scent of alcohol from the taller man's breath. After pretending to gag, he rolled his eyes, "Or fucking what?"

What he didn't expect was the punch right in the jaw, making Phil stumble back. His eyes widened in furry, holding his jaw in shock. What the fuck was that?! With a growl, Phil ran up to Randy, tackling him onto the ground, knocking the bottle of beer out of the taller man's hand. He then proceeded to punch the other in the face multiple times, with absolutely nothing to stop him.

Maybe this was his revenge for the Pepsi yesterday.

As he kept on punching Randy, he knew he had busted his lip a few punches ago, but nothing was stopping him now. All this pent up rage and aggression… all because of Randy.

In his blind moment, he didn't expect whenever Randy's hands have come to his throat, the two quickly flipping over so the taller man could be on top. He pushed down, trying to suffocate the raven-haired man, but the hands that clawed up his tattooed arms were keeping him from successfully choking the smaller man.

Aquamarine orbs glanced over to the spilled beer bottle, then a hand grabbed onto the bottle, raising it up high. Phil was still trying to get out of his grasp, but the attempts came to a halt as soon as the glass bottle connected to his skull, knocking him right out.

Randy hissed as some of the glass pierced his skin, but it wasn't anything too bad. He stood up and waited for Phil to get up as well, but after a few moments… nothing. It had made the drummer's eyes widen, unaware that he had that much strength to knock the straight edge out. Kneeling down beside him, he tried to wake him up by cupping his face and shaking his head, however the only thing that had accomplished was making a thick line of blood from down Phil's face.

"Shit!" Randy swore, putting down Phil's head and calling an ambulance.

Talk about a celebration.

 **1: Shit in Galician.**

 **2: Black Veil Brides**

 **3: Of Mice and Men**

 **4: System of a Down**

 **5: Three Days Grace**


	4. As the World Falls Down

**A/N: Shout out to BornToWin12, qxzky, Sami's Crow and Varmint for leaving a review! ^-^ They are always appreciated!  
**

* * *

"You sure we should have left Randy and Phil alone together?"

Stephen clutched his glass of beer, honestly debating on his answer. Really, he wasn't certain on whether or not leaving the other two members of the band was a good idea or not, but he wasn't going to be worried about them. They needed time alone together, as he said before, "T'ey're fine, fella. But ah didn't bring ye here t'a discuss t'em."

John nodded, taking a drink of beer. He did decide to drink after all, but only a small amount. He'd limit himself on this stuff so his kidneys could at least last longer than they averagely would, "Okay," he succumbed to the Irishman's wishes, "So what did you want to talk about?"

Now, to exactly explain what Stephen had been thinking was difficult. Not that he was reluctant to tell John, but it was more like he just couldn't find the right words to form a correct sentence. No matter how many times he went over it in his head, none of it seemed right.

"Well," he began, wrinkling up his nose for a second. Here it goes, "Our concert was good."

"Stephen."

"It was! It was good, and… even t'ough ah wanted t'a celebrate wit' t'e whole band… ah ju't… s'hard, ah t'ink. Wit' our lil' moments as a band, of course we joke around, but…" Stephen trailed off. Gosh, why was this so hard for him to put into words?

"But what?"

Talk about being pressured. Stephen took a big drink of his beer, rehearsing his next line a few times in his head before blurting it out.

"Ah t'ink ah love ye fellas."

The bassist laughed, now holding his drink with two hands, "I would hope so. We're all family here."

"Not what ah meant."

Now that had gotten John to stop laughing. Now thinking about it, he could see where Stephen was coming from. Though John had viewed Stephen, Randy, and Phil more like brothers than the what-not, just because he hadn't ever thought of any of them really… being together. Then again, he wasn't even sure how that would even work out. Nor did he really know about Randy or Phil's thoughts towards that kind of stuff.

Actually, he kind of did know. He knew Phil didn't like promiscuous sex and Randy… well, he was Randy. What else could be said about the youngest one out of them all? He's a wonderfully complicated man? Yeah, right. All of them were complicated in their own way.

"So…. What does that mean? You want all of us in your bed, or something?"

"N-No!" Stephen gawked, a flush filling his face. Even though that thought had been tempting, he gnawed at his lower lip, still trying to put this into words, "I ju't… th'a feelin' ah get wit' all of ye… ah ju't want t'a hold ye all and never let go. Ah never want anyt'in' t'a happen to ye fellas. Not while ah'm around, anyways."

"…. You legit love us?"

The singer nodded, "Yeah, ah do. Ah can't imagine me life wit'out any of ye."

John had to think about this once again. And as he thought more and more about it… it seemed as if what Stephen was saying applied to him, too. He was passionate about the band, don't get him wrong, but he'd without a doubt die for any of his friends. Even if it was the stubborn ones like Randy, or the lovable ones like Stephen, living without any of the other three members was definitely not an option. So, clutching his drink, he raised it up some, offering the Irishman a small grin in response.

"I can drink to that."

Stephen smiled at the heart-warming comment, glad to be seen as if he wasn't crazy. To be in love with not just one, but three men at the same time? Seemed barbaric for his heart, but he knew he had enough love to go around, even if that did sound cheesy. So, he raised up his glass, "Ah'm glad t'a hear t'at."

And then the two glasses filled with beer clinked together, with their rightful owners withdrawing the glasses back and taking a few gulps of the alcoholic beverage.

After a few moments, when all did seem good, Stephen's thoughts went to Randy and Phil. What if they didn't feel the same way? What if his life were to get even more complicated? Sure, he had John on his side, and that would have seemed good enough, but Stephen was greedy. He wanted Randy and Phil to feel the same way, and he wanted his band to be accepting of one another, no matter how many times they could annoy each other. He wanted one big relationship that could be broken down at any time, then built right back up.

"Ye t'ink it'll be hard t'a explain t'is to Randy and Phil?"

A chuckle comes from John. He nearly rolled his eyes, "Those two are stubborn but they're not completely close-minded. They hate each other, but they don't hate us."

Right, right. As long as they aren't together, then everything will be fine, right?

"Hey, Stephen?"

Blue hues looked over at another pair of blue hues, which were obviously in a questioning glance.

"How long have you felt this way about us?"

Right as Stephen parted his lips to answer, his phone started to ring. He had only heard it through the loud music because honestly, he'd hoped to hear a phone call from either Phil or Randy. About how they were finally getting along, or something else entirely impossible. As he picked up his phone, he saw that the caller was in fact Randy. Had that surprised him? It was hard to tell at this point.

Furrowing his brows in curiosity, he slid his finger across the screen, bringing the phone up to his ear as he covered his free ear.

"Hello?"

"Stephen…" Oh no. That was a worried tone, dangerously close to sounding scared. And this was Randy he was talking to, "Phil… he's.. in the hospital."

"What?!"

"I… we had a fight. I can't explain much right now, just… please come? Call a taxi, I don't care, I just need you and John here, right now! It's the closest hospital you can find."

Then the phone hung up.

It left Stephen bewildered, looking over at John who had confusion on his face.

"Who was that?"

"Randy. He said Phil was in th'a hospital and he… sounded _scared._ "

John gave a curt nod, immediately standing up, paying off his bill. He was close to paying off Stephen's bill as well, but was beaten to it before he could really argue about it. Now wasn't the time for arguing. Now was the time to see if Phil was okay and to see what the hell Randy had to say for this gut-twisting event. They quickly left the bar, being able to get the attention of a nearby taxi cab. Neither of them would be able to drive even if they did have a car to drive in. After entering the cab in a hurry, both of them sloppily told the taxi driver that they needed to be driven to the closest hospital there was. They didn't know the hospital's name, but even with their random guesses, the driver was able to tell that they were in a hurry.

The cab took off from the bar, driving as quickly as it could. It was absolutely torture waiting in the cab for the both of them, seeing how they had been eager to get to wherever as fast as they could. After just minutes of agony, the cab reached the hospital and both John and Stephen hurried out of the vehicle, not even giving it a second thought to throw whatever money they had in their pockets at the driver. As they hurried out, they ran inside, only for both of them to look opposite directions in order to find their friends faster.

John looked at Randy from down the hallway, nudging Stephen to look his way as well. As the both saw the faint figure of their drummer, they jogged down the hall, nearly tackling Randy down as they skidded to a halt.

"Phil…!"

"In the E.R." Randy replied to John.

"What th'a hell happened?!" Stephen managed to get out between harsh breathes. He had been freaking out, it not helping that he was drunk at all.

"Well… I-"

It had been only then whenever a nurse had come up to the three men, rather hesitant to address the taller men. She looked up at them, getting in a gulp as she nodded at what seemed like nothing, "Mr. Orton…?"

Randy had already kept his eye on the nurse, only grunting whenever she used his last name, "Yeah?"

"Mr. Brooks is in good condition. He just needed stitches to close the wound, which was luckily right above his hair line. He's been dosed with pain medicines and will be out by… tomorrow."

A sigh of relief. From Randy. Weird.

The nurse nodded once more, shying away from the intimidating men as she walked all of them back to Phil's room.

"Finish your sentence, Randy," John spoke back up, "What the fuck happened to Phil?"

As they approached closer and closer to the room, Randy grumbled a response out, "We got into a fight, like I said to Stephen. At first it was just a verbal one but then it turned physical. I punched him, he busted my lip, and then I… slammed a beer bottle over his head."

They were soon left alone outside of Phil's room, being told they could go in at any time as long as they were quiet. After a few moments, it was the silence that had made Randy… regret his decision. Even though he was glad about being able to shut Phil up, he wasn't all too prideful about putting the man in the hospital. This little accident could result in the band splitting up, or even worse. It could make Phil finally afraid of him, which he would hate. Sure, the guy was an asshole, but fuck it all if Phil was going to be hesitant with him from then on out.

"You…" Stephen finally growled out, breaking the silence. Without a moment of hesitation, he punched Randy right across the face with enough force to throw the taller man down. The singer's nostrils flared in rage, his blue eyes giving off a death stare as he slowly turned around, opening Phil's door then closing himself in the room.


	5. Avoiding Murder

**A/N: Here's chapter 5! vuv I was close to finishing it earlier yesterday, but I guess I got too tired!**  
 **To Varmint: Thank you! I've observed these four for plenty of years and I won't be ashamed to admit I've written more stories with Punk than I should have.**  
 **To qxzky: Don't worry! Randy will make it up~ he's definitely not the bad guy of the story.**

* * *

Randy stared at the hospital door as it closed, the very man who punched him in the face closing it right behind him. Out of all people, the drummer never expected that the Irishman would ever punch him or anyone. Especially not a punch that held such a grudge to it.

It was reasonable. He fucked up. Badly. He didn't know his own strength and that got Phil in the hospital, so yes, he understood why Stephen had punched him. What he didn't understand was John. He looked back up at the other man, confused on why he was still here instead of being inside the room with Stephen and Phil too. Wasn't he pissed as well? Honestly, he wouldn't even blame him if he was. He probably deserved another punch to the face.

"Oh, Randy," John had said out in a disappointed tone. It was completely unbelievable that he or Stephen could even go to the bar alone without Phil and Randy getting along. It was childish, for starters, even going onto the level of unnecessary, "Get up, would you? We're going for a walk."

Uh oh. That wasn't usually a good sign.

Grumbling, the taller rubbed his beyond sore jaw, scrambling up to his feet. Not like he absolutely had to listen or do anything John said, but he was cautious that if he let this situation get any worse, the band wouldn't need his drumming talent anymore.

So as John started to walk, he did as well. As to where they were walking to, Randy didn't care. He just knew that this walk would involve a lot of talking, which would make him even more pissed off. Yet instead of usually screaming at Phil while he was pissed, he would have nothing to preoccupy himself. Not until that straight-edged bastard was better, anyways.

It didn't take them long at all to exit the hospital, the wind of Brooklyn hitting their faces as they walked out. It was refreshing to smell something else then that cliché hospital scent, and it relieved Randy. Somehow, it didn't make him feel as guilty as he did in the damn building, right outside of the man's door who had gotten into the hospital in the first place because of him- oh, wait. The guilt didn't leave. It was still there.

As they walked on for a few more minutes, the drummer became… uncomfortable. The silence between them only meant that John was searching for something to say.

He could say anything.

Something.

Say whatever he needed to in order to relieve them of this deafening silence. But there was nothing.

It was made Randy shove his hands into his pockets as he remained uncomfortable. Maybe that's what John was trying to do to him. Make him feel so guilty that he'd learn his lesson from that. It was a possibility. John had such a good way with letting people know what was wrong and what was right- the whole 'get Phil in a hospital' thing had been wrong. To both him and Stephen. Great.

Randy would have one hell of a time making it up to them.

To Phil? He really couldn't care less. The punk needed to know what line not to cross, and this was a lesson. Actually, it was a lesson for the both of them. The guilt was eating him away while the pain was eating Phil away.

One could say they were even.

It was at that thought that John finally spoke.

"Why do you two hate each other so much?" He asked. Sure, he's asked this plenty of times before, but neither of the two would ever answer him right. They'd always make up some bullshit excuse, "For real. I wanna know."

Randy grumbled, "We hate each other because we can't do anything but hate each other. I have no fucking idea how this all started. Probably one day in college, we just looked at each other in the wrong way."

"Randy."

"Tellin' the truth, John. We hate each other because we hate each other."

John didn't bother to look over his shoulder at Randy for some kind of justification, "Okay… ever tried complimenting each other? For once in your lives? It won't kill you two to try to get along, but if you guys can't, than that's gonna kill you both. Seriously, what if it had been worse than this, Randy? What if you killed him?"

Hands bring themselves out of the comfort of their pockets in order to be folded. Aquamarine orbs glance to the side, completely unaccepting of the very thought that murder wasn't very far in his future. Sure, with enough force, he could kill Phil. Phil could kill him. But had they really hated each other that much in order to stretch their hatred that far?

"I would never kill Phil," he admitted shamelessly, "Fuck, he being in the hospital is making me feel guilty enough! The last thing I need is to be accounted for a murderer and ruin our band. He just….! Frustrates me! He gets underneath my skin and he fucking laughs at that, making me want to deck him in the face!"

"You were drunk, right?"

"What?"

"When you slammed the beer bottle over Phil's head, were you drunk?"

"…. No."

That had caused John to stop in his tracks and turn around, eying Randy with a look that anyone could easily read as pissed off. Certainly if he said he was drunk, he would still receive this look. It shouldn't really even matter if he had been or not, because he would have been aware of what he was doing.

"You're making this hard, Randy. You really are. How about whenever you see Phil again, you learn to try to respect him? Or at least not throw an insult! Or… hell, I don't know, I don't have this problem with anyone! If you do not like Phil, it's fine, I get it, he's an asshole. But you cannot hope to make anything better between you two if you don't allow yourself to open up to him! Ever think he bugs you, in particular, so much because he doesn't know who the hell you are to him?"

The taller of the two had been taken aback. …. What? No, that couldn't have been the case. He and Phil hated each other and they knew plenty about each other! …. At least he's convinced himself that he knows all about Phil that he is required to.

"I know what he is to me. He's a little shit!"

"That's exactly my point!" John yelled, "That's who he is, Randy! The sooner you accept that, the happier both of you will be! And no, it doesn't help that you drink and smoke so much, either! You trying to die before all of us?!"

"Why the hell would you care?! I can get drunk and smoke if I want!"

Oh, the air between them became tense.

"But we both know that isn't true! You don't do that because you want to, you do that because you need a habit that involves destroying yourself because you think you deserve it!"

"And I do," Randy agreed, "John, I can't see my daughter anymore! I don't have any rights to see her at all, and you know how much I loved her! Samantha was a total bitch for ignoring the fact I told her that I had a life on the road and even though he could arrange to go see her, she didn't want to make it 'complicated'! She divorced me, and now here I am, getting this shit shoved down my throat by you and Phil! I can't fucking take it!"

Now it had been John that was taken aback. It had been Phil to figure out why Randy had such bad habits in the first place. As he saw the pure rage in Randy's face, he frowned slightly, reaching his hand to try to rub one of Randy's arms.

"Hey… hey, it's okay. You aren't getting any shit from me, okay?" The bassist's tone went from angry to soft in a single sentence, "Let's calm down…"

Randy groaned, "Fuck. I just miss Alanna, John. I miss holding my baby girl."

John came closer, ever so slowly. It was rare to find Randy admitting things like this, so he would hate for the other man to suddenly close himself back up. He wrapped his arms around the taller man, all in an effort to comfort him, "It's okay. You have every right to miss her."

There were a few moments of silence. John knew Randy was trying to think of something to say, so he let him take his time. What he didn't expect, however, was the drummer suddenly pushing him away, only to grab his arm and kiss him right on the lips.

* * *

"Are ye sure yer okay, fella?"

Phil grumbled, rolling his eyes, "I told you… I'm fine. That's the eighty-ninth time you've asked me, Stephen."

"Ah'm sorry. Ah ju't… seein' ya like t'is… it's… infuriatin'. Ah wouldn't blame ye if ye wanted t'a go find Randy and wring his neck."

"I'd probably kick him in the balls before I did that. I actually want Randal alive."

Stephen raised both of his eyebrows. Okay, it wasn't surprising another human being didn't want to murder someone else, but Phil not wanting to murder Randy? It was like he was talking to a whole different person because last time he checked… Phil didn't give two shits about the drummer, "What makes ye say t'at?"

"Believe it or not I… cherish the relationship between me and Randal. Him putting me in the hospital means he's gonna get pranked twice as hard now."

…. What the fuck?

Stephen was getting more and more confused.

"He's a good drummer, y'know? We need him."

The Irishman kept a stare onto Phil, which had only noticed this as Stephen refused to look away. Phil got the whole 'worried' vibe off of him, and to his own shock, he went over what he had just said in his mind a few times. He digested the words and with a groan, he rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"How many drugs did these guys give me?"

"Enough, apparently. Ah mean, s'good yer _not_ gonna murder Randy, and s'good yer.. complimentin' him, but…"

"Yeah, yeah."

After a few moments of silence, once of Stephen's hands went over to hover over Phil's. As his palm rested against the smooth skin, his thumb rubbed small circles on the hand, Stephen's gaze never faulting from the guitarist's. Phil gave him a small smile, eyes getting droopy as he laughed softly.

"You should go," he began, "You don't have to stay here with me."

Stephen raised an eyebrow, somewhat insulted at the comment, "Yer delusional, fella. Ah am n'oot leavin' yer side."

The straight edge took that statement to heart, only sighing in defeat, "Fine, if you're gonna stay, then you might as well keep me warm," he grumbled, scooting over on his bed to make room for the bigger man. "C'mon, you moose."

"Moose?" The Irishman laughed at the nickname, climbing in bed with Phil, though making sure he wasn't too close to him for comfort, but at the same time, close enough to let his body heat radiate off of him so Phil could at least feel comfortable. He watched as the other sighed and turned to him, resting his head against his chest.

"Tell anyone about this," he managed to get out closing his eyes, "And I'll punch you."

Stephen gave a curt nod, closing his eyes as well as he wrapped his arms around Phil. Was this the sign he needed to know that Phil could possibly, maybe even slightly, love him? He wouldn't raise his hopes too high, just in case he scared the raven-haired man off.

No, he wouldn't say anything yet.

He would sleep here with Phil, cherishing the moment while it lasted.


End file.
